Alternate title: Why you should neuter your dogs, or at the very least provide them with large stuffed animals.

Brooke here.

Zu is at the vet’s again, but this time for that oh-so-necessary elective surgery.  It was probably overdue.  The poor little guy had no idea what to do with his erections. He’d lay on the floor and stare at his junk, whining. Sometimes I’d be working and see him scoot by in a rather staccato pattern, Cutter’s oversized dog bed clutched between his legs and a terrified Why can’t I stop doing this?!? look in his eyes.

He’s somewhere between four-and-a-half and five months, and we’ve been waffling over the best time to get him neutered.  Some ASPCA shelters are neutering dogs as young as 8 weeks; some vets recommend waiting until the dog is at least two years old to ensure healthy development. There’s research to support or discredit either of these, as well as neutering at any point in between.  Or at all.  So we talked with our resident Scottish giant and we decided that there would be fewer lifelong aggression issues if Zu was deballed in early adolescence, and, well, he’s a freaking Rottweiler so there you go.

There has never been any question over whether Zu should or shouldn’t be neutered, as he’s a Craigslist find and there ain’t anything resembling a pedigree attached to him (we think he’s at least part German Shepard or collie).  He’s a very sweet little puppy, though, and I’ve put off the appointment a few times since it’ll cause him some pain and he’s too young to knock up the lady Labradoodle down the block.  This has allowed him to spend some quality time with his genitals.  Imagine a kid who just hit puberty but has no social inhibitions; for the first few weeks you’re embarrassed on their behalf, but they’re so intent, and so frequently intent, that it eventually becomes background noise.

For example, someone I know also recently got a puppy.  A small one, I think.  She already owns a tiny little lion-dog.  She called me last week but it was very difficult to hear her over what sounded like dogs in a blender.

“Guess what they’re doing!” she said.

“Killing each other?” I asked.

“They’re humping each other in the face!”

“Maybe you should stop that?” I offered, perhaps a little weakly.

“Nah, it’s tiring the puppy out.”

Which is sort of how it goes.  Yeah, you could stop it, and then stop it again and again and again, or you could recognize – appreciate, even! – how they’ve found activities to occupy their time that don’t involve you.  I just turn the music up and do an extra load of laundry every week.

The laundry is important.  I learned this a little too late with Cutter John.  Never having been an adolescent male, I didn’t appreciate how it was going to happen anyhow so you might as well make the best of it.  I was, perhaps, a bit naïve when I thought that the problem was not the testosterone but proximity to soft objects.  So when I went out, I left Cutter shut up in the kitchen with nothing but his water bowl.

Oh, and a cinder block we used to prop open the door.

One day I got home and the place was a bloodbath.  I screamed and checked Cutter from head to toe and couldn’t find a wound.  I assumed he was bleeding internally and had vomited it up.  I threw him in the car and sped to the vet’s, who checked him for bloody stools and vomiting but couldn’t find any problems.  Then they gave him a more thorough examination and found…

Well, they gave me some cream and said I needed to buy him something large and soft.  We then scheduled his surgery.

A cautionary tale for owners of male puppies, perhaps.